


Good Times

by EllaStorm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse fic, M/M, Post Season 10, The Darkness - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Darkness encompasses the world, Sam and Dean find back to the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Times

The car is stuck. Sam thinks it’s kind of ironic. Well, at least a part of him does, while all the other parts are busy pondering the fact that they are both soon to be encased in absolute darkness, with no way out. He feels oddly at peace with that observation.

 

Next to him, Dean swears, still trying to get the car to move, desperately. The black, billowing cloud behind them rushes closer, and Sam knows it’s too late. They’re trapped.

 

“Dean”, he says. And then again, louder: “Dean.”

 

His brother lets up from the gas pedal and raises his head, all hurry drained from him in a matter of seconds. “What have we done?”, he asks, his voice barely audible.

 

In the next moment, darkness is all around them. They can’t see anything through the windows that isn’t pitch black, and Sam doesn’t know when or how, but his hand has found Dean’s and his mouth is whispering “it’s okay” all over, again and again.

 

He imagines the shadows creeping in through the ventilation slots, imagines them slowly drowning them in blackness, but they don’t, they simply swerve, and stretch, and agglomerate, and separate around the car, and suddenly they’re gone.

 

It’s just another overcast day in the fields of Superior, Nebraska.

 

Dean steps on the gas once again with full force. This time, like a miracle, the car lunges forward.

 

When they reach the highway, Sam first remembers that they just doomed the world.

 

 

***

 

 

They don’t go back to the bunker. They find a motel and Sam switches the TV on while Dean lays out the meagre contents of their first aid box.

 

“Devastating tornadoes”, the news lady says, as Dean puts band aids on the cuts on Sam’s face. “Destroyed homes”, she continues, as Dean examines the bruises on Sam’s arm. “115 people estimated dead”, she concludes, as Dean kisses Sam.

 

It’s been more than two years, and it shouldn’t be that easy to fall back into the rhythm of stripping off each other's clothes and touching in between kisses, but it is, somehow. The sex is not intense, like it was when Dean only had weeks to live, or desperate, like when Sam had decided on saying Yes. It’s comfort. It’s reassuring themselves that the other is whole.

 

They don’t talk afterwards, but Dean doesn’t show any interest whatsoever in getting out of Sam’s bed and into his own.

 

They also don’t cuddle, but Dean’s breath tickles the nape of Sam’s neck as he slowly drifts off.

 

It’s the best sleep Sam has gotten in months.

 

***

 

 

The next morning, news are all over the place: “Tornado of the century”, “A thousand casualties”, “Apocalypse Now” (Sam chuckles about that one). Dean calls Cas, but nobody answers the phone. Dean calls Crowley, but nobody answers the phone, either. He leaves messages. Nobody ever calls back.

 

“What do we do?”, Dean finally asks over lunch at the local diner.

 

“No idea. I’m out of my depths here, man”, Sam replies, poking around in his salad.

 

“We can’t let the world go to shit.”, Dean protests.

 

Sam shrugs. “Then let’s go home and start diggin’.”

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

 

***

 

 

When they get back to the bunker, it’s gone.

 

The only thing that’s left is black smoke and destruction. Dean, of course, is shocked, angry and miserable, but he can’t hide the fact that he saw it coming. Darkness might have spared its bearer, but Darkness knows where he feels at home, and Darkness likes to cause damage.

 

So they climb back into Baby and drive off to the closest public library, while Dean keeps ranting about the lack of fresh clothes, good water pressure and memory foam in their future. Sam worries more about the lack of helpful literature, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

After three days of research and ten hours of sleep in total split between them, they come up with nothing. Zip. Nada.

 

Sam tries to contact Rowena, but she doesn’t answer. Sam tries to contact Hannah (or any other angel for that matter), but they don’t answer, either. Nobody ever answers again.

 

 

***

 

 

It’s been two weeks, and New York City is wiped off the face of the earth. Just like LA, Singapore, London, Paris and Moscow.

 

Lebanon, Kansas, on the other hand, is still going strong, and Sam is, once again, amazed by people’s ability to live on like nothing happened, as he sits in the motel room he and Dean have rented, drinks his coffee and watches the news. Their strategy to save the world is poorly conceived, to say the least, since they have no reliable sources of any kind, and Sam, for some reason, feels a sort of relief, in association with the usual guilt, like a big responsibility has been taken off his shoulders.

 

“Which capital city bit it today?”, Dean demands, as he marches through the door.

 

“D.C., looks like. They’ve transferred all the news people to remote stations and evacuated as many civilians as possible. The Midwest is gonna get pretty damn crowded, pretty damn soon.”

 

“Fuck”, Dean says, but there is no real shock or fear behind it. “It’s closing in on us from all sides.”

 

“Maybe it spared the best for last.”, Sam remarks, dryly.

 

“Great. Thank you, man. That really cheered me up.” Dean pulls off his shoes and sits next to Sam. “What do we have?”, he asks.

 

“A shitload of fake IDs. Anti-possession-sigils. Shotguns and bullets. Salt. Kerosene. Each other.”, Sam retorts.

 

“That’s not gonna do a lot of good, is it?”

 

“No.” Sam looks at him. “But that shouldn’t be news to us.”

 

Dean smiles. All at once, there’s a sad expression in his eyes. “We’re not gonna…you know. Pull through. Lucifer was a different story – we had options, but this time…Sammy, it looks pretty bad.”

 

“Is that your best pick-up-line?”

 

“What – Sam, I’m tryn’a make a speech here and you ruin it for me?”

 

“I don’t want a speech, Dean. I want you to call me names, and make bad movie references, and NEVER apologise to me, ever again, you hear me?”

 

“Fine. Bitch.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

 

***

 

 

It’s been three weeks and they’re on the road again.

 

Newsfeed has ended five days ago. Electricity has ended three days ago.

 

They’re not running anywhere, just driving. Sam is pretty sure by now that his theory was correct: The Darkness spared Dean for last.

 

Grassland is flying by the windows, and he can hear the first crickets of summer chirping in the fields. It would be a beautiful evening, weren’t it for the solid walls of black in the distance – every distance. The Darkness has taken over. Dean and Sam are last, but not least.

 

Dean flips a switch on the cassette player, and all of a sudden Kansas starts playing at full blast. “CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SOOOOON”, Dean shouts, and Sam laughs, despite himself. His brother keeps singing, banging his hands on the wheel, and somewhere in the middle Sam joins in. They sing it through, including the guitar solos, their pitch completely awry, and Sam doesn’t know on which occasion he has been this elated in the last seven years.

 

When the final bass strings sound through the car, Dean starts slowing her down, pulls her over, shuts the engine down, pats the dashboard once, twice, three times, and climbs out. Sam follows him, and sits down next to him on the hood. The darkness has completely encircled them by now, swirling, hissing, waiting; and they can’t see the sky anymore.

 

“You remember watching the stars?”, Sam asks. He can’t help the tinge of nostalgia in his voice.

 

“Good times.” Dean nods.

 

Sam moves closer, rests his forehead against Dean’s, and breathes him in.

 

“Best times.” Sam corrects him.

 

They sit in silence, while the Darkness creeps closer, until Sam can feel it on his skin. It doesn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

 

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”, Dean whispers against his lips.

 

Sammy does.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was a cathartic experience. (Read as: I made myself cry and watched lots of fluffy cat videos thereafter.)  
> Dedicated to SandraMorningstar, who told me to write something. I'm sorry, sweetie <3
> 
> Music I listened to while writing: "Sound of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel


End file.
